I must have ran 40 blocks after I got the news. And that damned parrot would not shut up! Aunt Beatrice came and got him while me flying down the streets with no coat, hat, gloves or even a scarf on a cold freezing pre-Christmas day. Down Fulton Street. Decomposition. A Rotted Christmas Gift. Which Morgue? I’m assigned to find you.
To this day I still hate Christmas and always will.
Fulton’s Folly redux.
Oblivious to cars, speeding past rickety boarded up storefront churches, racing around and through stagnant pedestrians. Cars honking. Screeching to an unexpected halt as fleet form weaves speed through traffic Loom gossamer spider webs. If I run fast enough to the morgue maybe I’ll still have a chance to remind his body to arise for the Tree Lightening Ceremony.
The Forest. I’ll run into the woods. There I found the magnificent corpse of a Unicorn. Majestic but I didn’t know what to do with it. Wasps had made a home inside the stomach cavity. Carrying life from death. I could smell syrup and honey mixed with Holiday Candy Canes. My dreams, goals and plans for the future. Disemboweled.
The Way of Wings is to fly. Where Sweet Harbor lies.
She Triumphant Playing Parlor Games exuded Vibrato from wild god’s Olde Apothecary Shoppe. When a Heroine falls. She dies alone. Forgotten and lost to the ages. She had only a passing acquaintance with sanity.
Each Day Jesus Cries for those condemned to the altars of bloody sacrifice.
Simon says. You learn quickly to do what Simon says or you’re out of the game. For Simon is Jigsaw.
This world done. Ready to implode.
This Old Soldier will fade away……